


It's Not Unusual 3: One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish

by Mallory Klohn (malloryklohn)



Series: It's Not Unusual [3]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-03
Updated: 2009-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malloryklohn/pseuds/Mallory%20Klohn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mulder's new case involves a thing that does things to things.  All deadly-like!  Meantime, the stalker makes merry with Mulder's aquarium, another agent makes Unwanted Advances, and Skinner is about as angry and constipated as ever, for all new reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Unusual 3: One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish

** It's Not Unusual III: **   
**One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish**

by Ethan Nelson

  


"I don't know about you, Mulder, but the whole thing has echoes of Nancy  
Kerrigan for me."

"What?"

"That was the dumbest thing I've ever done."

Mulder shot Scully a look over the roof of his car. She was not smiling.  
He decided to improvise. "I didn't realize you were a big figure skating  
fan, Scully."

"I'm not," she bit out.

"Oh, come on. All those guys in tights, jumping around…"

"To poorly chosen classical pieces which they obviously don't appreciate…"

"The judges probably don't go for Rick Springfield."

"Mulder…"

"But David Hasselhoff is really big in Germany."

"Mulder."

He swallowed. "What?"

"The next time you invite me to interview an informant, I would appreciate  
it if you would tell me beforehand that the man may or may not be interested  
in hiring me for one of his cinematic masterpieces."

He fought a smile. "Scully, nobody can tell you like I can that the  
man is a genius with latex."

She glared at him. "Are we going inside, or did you ask the delivery  
man to meet you here so we can eat on the sidewalk?"

"There's something weird about the guy in the apartment that faces mine..."

"And I'll bet he tells people the same thing all the time about you.  
Come on." She strode past him, heels clicking solidly on the pavement.

Without so much as a backward glance, she mounted the steps, looking  
very much as though she would be taking them two at a time if she had worn  
slacks today. He had to sprint to catch up with her, at least for a moment.

"Scully, come on. Don't go away angry..."

"Just go away?"

"No. Look, it was a legitimate tip."

She froze. Turned. Nailed him to the floor with her eyes. "The only  
legitimate tip you acquired from that disgusting little man was that you  
can get a discount at the Triple X Video Barn if you mention he sent you."

"It applies to you, too."

Her eyes narrowed now. _She and Skinner must be doing lunch_. "I  
already have a membership at the Love Sinema."

"That's nothing to shake a uh... a stick... at."

Sighing heavily, she turned and started again toward his apartment.

Mulder followed close behind now, half-worried she might turn suddenly  
and aim low. She lost her temper with him so rarely that he was generally  
at a loss to deal with it. And, inevitably, the cheesy hormone remarks  
always came to mind. He knew without testing the idea that it would be  
unwise to actually utter one.

When they reached his door, she whipped out her keys and opened it,  
stepping back to admit him. He turned on a lamp and stripped off his coat.

"You want something to drink?" he asked, opening the refrigerator.

"Are you still working on that box of wine you bought?"

"Yeah."

"Coffee will be fine."

"Are you sure I can't charm you out of this?"

"Mulder, if you even try--" Her voice died in her throat.

Mulder looked up, and his jaw dropped.

Skinner stood in the open doorway of the bathroom, beautifully backlit,  
wearing nothing but his glasses and a black towel that was slung low around  
his hips. Even with his face frozen in a classic expression of Shock and  
Horror, he was a sight to behold, every curve of every muscle perfectly  
delineated, his chest hair curling slightly from damp.

Before Mulder had a chance to think of anything else, the very first  
thought that came into his head watching Scully watching Skinner was _mine_.

"You," he said, pointing at Skinner. "Back in the bathroom. You go back  
to the hallway," he added, jabbing a finger at Scully. Both of his friends  
complied without remark.

Now that he had the apartment common to himself, he raked through his  
hair and poured himself a glass of wine from the box. Slugging it back  
quickly, he poured another and headed after Scully.

He found her leaning against the opposite wall, contrite and embarrassed.  
"I'm so sorry," she said. "I had no idea."

Mulder frowned. "It's not your fault, Scully. I didn't know he was going  
to be here either. We'll blame him. It's never stopped us before."

That won a weak smile. "This is so..."

"Mortifying? Awkward?"

"Weird," she nodded. "Definitely weird."

"At least you didn't walk in on us in bed together."

She looked thoughtful. "You know, anybody could have found him here.  
Is this really wise?"

"When you consider the alternatives..." He sipped his wine. "There's  
something I haven't told you, Scully. I wasn't trying to keep it from you,  
I just... Okay, yeah, I was trying to keep it from you, but not because  
I didn't trust you, I--"

"Spit it out, Mulder."

"We did it in the bathroom at Denny's, last month."

She raised a brow. "It?"

"You know. _It_."

"The hokey pokey?"

"Forget it. I don't need this."

"Mulder, come on. I'm sorry."

He met her eyes. "Someone videotaped it."

"Mulder, if this has _anything_ to do with the man we met today--"

"No! No, that's not it at all. But the guy who did it is trying to...  
hell, I don't know what he's trying to do. He made a skin flick out if  
it and sent it to Walter. Then he broke into his office and uploaded a  
screen capture from the video onto his computer. And used some sounds."

"And you're just telling me about this now?"

"It's embarrassing, all right? What do you want from me?"

"I want you to stop keeping things like this from me! God, how do you  
think I feel right now? Stop keeping them from me, or never tell me you  
did it." She took his glass and sipped from it. "Look, do you think this  
has anything to do with the donuts? And that Elvis thing?"

"Walter doesn't."

"But you do."

"We both started getting this shit around the same time."

"But the stuff _you_ get stuck with isn't remotely harmful to you."

"So far."

"If it _was_ related, you'd have to wonder what this person has  
against Skinner."

"Or why he's such a big fan of mine."

"You have to work on that self esteem, Mulder," she said, flashing him  
a smile. "Though with something like _that_ to come home to at night,  
I don't think it's going to be a problem."

"I knew it. You were checking him out."

"Better that than your figure skaters. Look, I'm going home."

"I promised you dinner."

"If you think I'm going to let you forget you finally agreed to pay  
for a meal, you're stranger than I thought."

"See you Monday."

"Goodnight."

Walter was already dressed when Mulder returned to his apartment, slouched  
on his sofa and looking surly. He glared at the agent when he spotted him.

"What's eating you?"

"My new reputation as a Chippendales dancer."

"Oh, come on," he said, sitting beside his lover. "It wasn't that bad."  
He thought about the scene, the look on Walter's face, and started laughing.

"Mulder."

He couldn't stop. He was reaching another plane of existence, that special  
place when breathing becomes impossible and your stomach starts to hurt.  
Every time he tried to stop, tried to speak any word more complicated than  
"you," he collapsed again.

"I should think it would be more disturbing to you to realize that by  
the time this is over, there won't be anyone left in three states that  
hasn't seen one or the other of us naked."

"Walter--" he gasped for breath. "She's not going to tell anyone."

"That's hardly the point, Mulder."

"I know. I know." He embraced the AD briefly before sitting back on  
the sofa, resting his head against its back. Walter was stiff in his place,  
rubbing his neck roughly. "What were you planning to do, by the way?"

"What?"

"I wasn't expecting you. You wandered out of my bathroom in a towel.  
What was the plan?"

He flushed. "Never mind."

Mulder felt a lazy smile grow on his face. "The hokey pokey," he murmured.

"What?"

"You came here to make me your boy toy."

"Considering past experience, I would have to say I don't have to come  
here to do that."

He blinked. "Are you calling me a slut?"

Walter held up his hands. "All I'm saying is you aren't the sort of  
person who is only capable of having sex in the dark, at night, in a bed."

"Slut," he nodded. "Course, I've never had to put a gun to your head."

"Your therapist tells me it would be very damaging to your psyche to  
deny you at such a delicate time."

Mulder grinned. "I didn't ask you to come here."

"And you haven't asked me to stay." He rose from the sofa with a groan.  
"Have a nice night, all right?"

The agent leaped up and looped an arm around Walter's waist, pulling  
the AD flush against his body. "Walter..." he purred in his lover's ear,  
"I liked you better speechless and mostly naked."

"If you're trying to woo me--" He gasped as Mulder reached in front  
to stroke him through his slacks.

"Stay," the agent murmured in his ear. He shivered. Mulder ground his  
cock into Walter's ass. "If you really want me to be your boy toy, I think  
I can manage."

"What a saint." He _sounded_ sarcastic, but then, whatever lingering  
disgruntlement he felt wasn't stopping him from rocking his hips in counter-rhythm  
to Mulder's.

The agent ran kisses along Walter's neck, rubbing his cock with both  
hands now that his lover was no longer trying to get away. "If you're feeling  
kinky," he said against Walter's skin, "We can even do it in the bed, if  
you want."

Walter's breath was fast becoming ragged. Mulder began a slow thrust  
against his ass. The AD's head fell back. His mouth opened on a sigh.

"How long were you waiting for me?" Mulder asked.

"Too long."

The agent released Walter's cock and got to work opening his shirt.  
It slipped from the AD's shoulders and pooled at their feet. "You could  
have stuck with the towel."

"I wouldn't want to rob you of the chance to expose me."

"Mm." He kissed Walter's nape. "And you thought Scully was coming back."

"If I did, I would have stuck with the towel."

"I saw the way you were looking at her."

"The look of patent terror that can only mean one thing."

"Undying passion?"

"I see you've made good use of that education."

Mulder came around to face him, caging his lover's face in his hands  
and kissing him softly. He slipped off Walter's glasses and tossed them  
on the sofa. "You look totally different without them, you know."

"The idea of bedding two different men in one night excites you?"

"You're the one who called me a slut." He captured the AD's mouth again,  
sucking on his tongue, presenting his own to be sucked. He yanked Walter's  
belt from its loops and slung it across the room. It landed in the kitchen  
with a soft thud. When his pants came off, Mulder kicked them beneath the  
sofa.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You ever notice in movies, when they're doing the morning after shot,  
they show the characters' clothing thrown all over the place?"

"Are you planning to film this?"

"No. I hate to come back to a plundered well." He looked down. Walter  
had eschewed his customary Fruit O' The Looms for a pair of almost painfully  
tasteful silk boxers. Mulder raised a brow. "Going upmarket, Walter?"

His eyes darkened, impossibly. _Mine_ came the thought again. Mulder  
smiled, bemused. Something on his face set his lover off. He was seized,  
suddenly, crushed against the AD's chest, his mouth caught in a bruising,  
exhilarating kiss that sent every drop of blood in his body straight to  
his groin. Rough hands stripped him clumsily, and his own clothing was  
tossed hither and yon. He thought Walter would pull him in again, but the  
AD shoved him hard against the wall. His breath whooshed out of him in  
a laugh.

"Masher," he said.

"Getting a kick out of this, are you?"

"You're usually so apologetic-- ah!" Walter had found one of his Astroglide  
stashes. Clever man. The AD slid his fingers in and out of Mulder's ass  
with such dedication, the agent was a little concerned he would get nothing  
else. "Walter... Christ…" He jerked against his lover's hand. "If we do  
this here, I'm going to wind up with a clean spot on the wall."

"We could go out on the balcony. That's more to your taste, anyway."

"Bastard."

Walter stretched him slowly. The man had only had to locate his prostate  
once, and now he found it unerringly every time. He stroked the agent's  
cock with his free hand. Mulder's hips rocked back and forth. The sounds  
he was making would have embarrassed him under any other circumstances.  
Walter could make him forget himself for a while. Walter could make him  
speak in tongues.

"Walter…"

"What?"

"I think I used my last engraved invitation the last time we did this..."

"That's too bad."

"Come on... oh..." His head fell back. Walter sucked at his throat.

"Walter... _please_..."

The AD removed both hands and began a lazy penetration, an inch at a  
time. Pushing in, pulling out, pushing in a little farther. He kept his  
hands occupied holding Mulder's hips still to prevent him from rushing  
things. Mulder tried anyway. He had waited long enough, for what seemed  
like weeks, now that he was so close, and Walter teased him still.

"Christ, how can you stand it?"

"Delayed gratification."

He blinked. "Wha-- what?"

Walter twisted his hips. Mulder groaned. "I believe in self-denial."

"Like hell you do. Come on..."

"You have to learn," Walter gasped, thrusting a little deeper, "to be  
patient."

"Why?" He thrust back, frantic to get more of his lover inside now that  
he had the suspicion it wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"Personal rewards."

"Now, if you'd said frequent flier miles, I could appreciate it. Walter,  
_come  
on_..."

"Or else what?"

"I'll renounce my membership in the Raging Flamers Club and become an  
upstanding citizen with a devoted wife and two and a half kids."

Walter pushed in a little deeper. "Hah. No woman could ever be devoted  
to you."

"That shows what you know. Female UFO abductees send me their underwear  
all the time."

"You're the Tom Jones of the paranormal community."

"Stop teasing me."

"I realize you're a little... excited at the moment, but if you ask  
me to fuck you like a bitch, I'm leaving."

Mulder laughed, and Walter thrust home. The agent let out an ecstatic  
moan. "_Yesss_..." His body was covered with a fine sheen of sweat.  
His muscles trembled. His nerve endings were on fire. And Walter was inside  
him, thank Christ, Walter was inside him, moving so slowly he thought he  
would go insane. He rocked against his lover, stroking his cock, fondling  
his balls, and Walter picked up tempo, alternately sucking and biting Mulder's  
neck.

"Walter... shit... oh…"

The AD thrust faster now, harder, groaning softly in Mulder's ear, hissing  
against his skin. Mulder bucked against him, as best he could, anyway.  
Walter crushed him against the wall, his hips slamming against Mulder's.

"I don't want you to fuck me like a bitch," Mulder moaned.

"Mulder... Mulder..."

"I want you to fuck me... like..." All thought flew from his mind when  
his orgasm struck, the comparison he sought lost as blast after blast of  
pleasure sucked the energy from his body along with his wits. Walter stiffened  
behind him, plastering him against the wall as he came with a shuddering  
moan.

The two men stayed like that for a long time, Mulder flattened against  
the wall, Walter's weight pinning him there, both mans' breath coming out  
in shallow pants.

The AD finally pulled out of his lover with a sigh, gathering Mulder  
in his arms. "How did you want me to do it?"

Mulder pulled back, incredulous. "Does it matter, now?"

"Nope," he said, cheerfully. "Just curious."

He glared. "I forget."

"You of the eidetic memory?"

"Fuck you, Walter." He padded nude to the fridge and pulled out a carton  
of cranberry juice.

"You never finished the thought to forget, did you?"

"What, you want me to congratulate you on your prowess?"

"No. The evidence speaks for itself."

"What an ego."

Walter grinned. "Come to bed."

Mulder looked up from his juice. The AD had that look in his eyes again,  
already, that look that spoke of sex and fulfillment and "Baby, I'm yours."

Suddenly it didn't matter so much that Mulder couldn't think of the  
specific way he had wanted to be fucked. Because there wasn't one.  
   
   


*** *** ***

  


He came awake with a start, bolting upright in bed. It was a little  
after two, he saw. His eyes were grainy. Walter slept peacefully beside  
him, a sated smile on his face. Bastard. The agent hadn't had a nightmare,  
and he was still sleepy, so it wasn't an insomnia problem, either. He reached  
for his gun and slipped out of bed. A quick check of his apartment came  
up fruitless. Nobody there but him and Walter and his fish. On the heels  
of this thought came the realization that he hadn't fed them yet today.

He crossed the room to his aquarium and squatted beside it. And froze.  
"Walter!"

The AD was awake and in the living room before Mulder had a chance to  
call him again. "What?"

"Look."

He sighed. "You got me up in the middle of the night to look at your  
fish?"

"These aren't the right fish."

"So we'll get you some more in the morning. Jesus Christ." He started  
to rise. Mulder grabbed his arm.

"You don't understand. These aren't the same fish that were in the aquarium  
yesterday."

Walter rubbed his head. "You're telling me someone broke into your apartment  
and switched your fish?"

"_Look_ at them, Walter."

"It makes no difference to me. You kill them too often to get attached  
to them."

"I'm telling you--"

"I believe you. I do."

"But you don't _care_," he finished, frustrated. "Why would someone  
do this?"

"Why would someone give you a giant velvet Elvis painting?"

"Have you had any _gifts_ lately?"

He frowned. "No."

"Be prepared. Scully thinks they're related, too."

"You told Scully?"

"I had to. What if she gets something?"

"Come back to bed, Mulder, it's late."

"I don't think I can sleep now."

"You think I can?"

He smiled. "What are you suggesting?"

"I'll tell you this," he said, kissing the agent. "I'm _not _suggesting  
we try to work out our licensing agreement."  
   
   


*** *** ***

  


"The man we're looking for is white, mid-thirties, kind of a loner.  
He's single. Gets off on power trips. He's probably in a lowly position  
in the work force, entry level at best--"

"Did you get that out of a textbook, Agent White?"

The agent turned to glare at Mulder. "You disagree?"

"I'm not saying I disagree, exactly. I'm saying you've just described  
practically every serial killer the ISU has seen in the last fifteen years."

"_Do_ you disagree, Agent Mulder?"

He looked at Walter over his desk. The AD knew what to expect from him  
in a situation like this. Agent White did not. The man had been shipped  
into Washington scant months before as the newest member of the Investigative  
Support team. Though dark and handsome and blessed with a killer smile,  
he nevertheless reminded Mulder of the guy in the old _Star_ _Trek_

episodes that you never heard of before who inevitably got killed by the  
end of the first act. Mulder considered his next words carefully before  
he spoke them.

"I don't think we're even looking for something human."

"Oh, Christ. Here we go," White said in disgust.

"Look at this picture," Mulder said, thrusting it in his face. The victim  
had been decapitated and dismembered, and each removal looked like a tear.  
"Tell me this was done by human hands."

"What should I tell you, then? That this was done by a mutant? That  
she was drawn and quartered by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Wait,  
I've got it. The killer is Bigfoot. He could be a white male in his mid-thirties  
under all that hair."

"You boys want to take this outside?"

Mulder looked at the AD. He looked amused more than anything, the fact  
of which was infuriating to him. "Don't ask me to sit in on discussions  
like this if you don't want to hear what I have to say."

"Hell, _I_ didn't invite you," White said.

"Then who the hell did? You?" He directed this at Walter.

"I'm inclined to agree with you, Agent Mulder," He rose, lifting his  
coffee pot to pour some into his mug. "But not all the way. Not until I  
hear your theory on the matter."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this. You taking kickbacks from the Psychic  
Friends Network or something?"

"That's enough of that, Jackson."

_Jackson?_ "I don't have much to go on right now, obviously," Mulder  
said, "but I did some checking into this over the last couple of days--"

"You presumptuous bastard."

He shot White a look, but did not pause. "Pets have been going missing  
from yards in the area. A couple of children have gone to their teachers  
with stories about a troll living in the woods that surround the local  
elementary school."

"We're looking for a fucking _troll_?"

"Not exactly. I think it's more of a goblin. Like on Spider Man," he  
added, helpfully.

"Smug prick--"

"Small-minded sycophant--"

"Can we confine this sort of thing to the schoolyard, please?"

Mulder redirected his glare to his lover. He blinked. Walter raised  
his mug to his lips to take a sip of the coffee. Before the agent's eyes,  
Walter's mug was transformed from a plain white mug to a very sporty number  
with a full-color photograph on its front. And he had a good idea what  
that photograph was. "Get out," he said to Agent White.

"Excuse me?"

"Get the hell out."

"You can't--"

"Jesus Christ, you can come back. I need to speak with the Assistant  
Director. Alone." White looked to Walter for approval.

The AD nodded. "Go ahead."

When Mulder had White out and the door safely closed, Walter sprang  
from his seat with a fierce scowl. "What the hell was that all about?"

Without a word, Mulder crossed the office to Walter's desk and grabbed  
his mug, shoving the Technicolor side into his lover's hands. "Remember  
that licensing agreement?"

Walter paled. There it was again, a little grainy now, but it was unmistakably  
the same picture that had been on his computer screen less than two weeks  
before. "Did he see--"

"No. He was too busy trying to come up with an insult that didn't smack  
of _oh yeah?_"

The AD smirked. "You're going to have to learn to play well with others,  
Agent Mulder. At least with him. I'm sending him along with you and Agent  
Scully."

"Oh, what the hell for?"

"I think he could stand a little broadening of the horizons, don't you?"

"On the federal tab?"

"This looks like a big job. We'll have you back faster if you have a  
third agent on i.t"

"I'm giving him the door-to-door work."

"You're the department head."  
   
   


*** *** ***

  


With a groan, Mulder tore off his glasses and set to rubbing his eyes.

He had been staring at the same police reports for better than two hours  
by now, and for some reason, perfectly innocent words were taking on all  
sorts of depraved connotations to him. He supposed it was just eyestrain  
and fatigue that had brought out his _Beavis and Butthead_ side, but  
there was no way to be sure. And that was the words he could still read.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. This was not his favorite  
part of the job. He, Scully, and Jackson White had returned from Poplar  
Bluff, Missouri that afternoon, and Mulder had somehow been handed the  
task of coming up with a report that did _not_ read like the script  
treatment for a Hammer film. Which to him was a grave disappointment. They  
were more fun to write. And some of the looks on Walter's face were priceless,  
even as expressionless as he generally was in the office.

Lately, to Mulder, it was worth it to be called upon to face down mutants  
and psychopaths, worth it to come back to his hotel after a long day to  
find out it had burned down while he and Scully were gone, worth it to  
be knocked out and drugged and generally fucked with, all so he would one  
day have the pleasure of trying to explain it to the AD. There was only  
so much weirdness and coincidence the man could take. Mulder was easing  
him into it on a gradual schedule.

A knock came on his door. "Come in."

A teenaged girl with a wealth of long, blonde hair entered the room,  
a familiar-looking box in her hands. "I'm looking for Fox Mulder."

"Donuts?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hang on." He got up, plucking a dollar from the jar he had taken to  
keeping on his desk. "Thanks," he said, trading her for the box.

When she was gone, he crossed to his desk and opened the box. Hm. Apple  
fritters. He was never going to starve to death, as long as he continued  
to be stalked, anyway. He slipped one of the donuts from the box and took  
a bite, unwilling to return to his report just yet.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that Scully  
was right. The gifts were related. Skinner's Mulder/Skinner merchandise,  
the donuts, Mulder's new fish. He had to admit they seemed to have more  
personality than the last crop. But he couldn't help but wonder what had  
become of them.

"Mulder?"

He turned. White stood in the doorway. "Agent White," he said. "Come  
to tell me about how all the nation's hypnotists are in league to convince  
innocent people they were abducted by aliens?"

He smirked. "I was going to tell you the one about near-death experiences  
being nothing but the power of suggestion, actually."

"It's easy to say when you've never been dead."

"Whatever, man. Look, I just wanted to have a look at your report."

"Make an appointment with my receptionist," he said, turning away.

"It's not done."

"Still? What the hell are you doing down here?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. I bet you were a lot of fun  
at Christmas."

"Just tell me what you think, all right?"

"Why? Are you concerned what I think will... contrast... with what you  
think?"

"Makes for an interesting meeting with the AD, anyway."

Mulder sighed. "I think... I think that thing used to be like you. Or  
me," he added at White's glare. "It used to be a man."

"Until…"

"That I'm not so sure of. I invited it to coffee, but it never showed.  
The least it could have done was call."

"Goddamn it, Mulder."

"What was your opinion, Agent White? Cult activity?" White flushed.  
"I see. When you can't think of a good explanation, you can always pin  
it on the Satanists."

"Fuck you, Mulder."

"You knew what you were getting into coming down here. Believe me, if  
you feel like leaving I'm not going to bar the door."

The agent looked like he was about to cut and run, but he surprised  
Mulder by grabbing a donut and collapsing into Scully's chair. "Who's sending  
you all these fucking donuts, anyway?"

He smirked. "That's those Satanists, again. They get around."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Are you involved with anyone? Romantically?"

Mulder dropped what was left of his donut. "Uh... why?"

"I'm asking for purely personal reasons," he said.

The agent met White's eyes over his desk. He wore a slight smile, a  
smile Mulder had seen him use to charm crabby law enforcement officials  
and little old ladies alike in the last couple of weeks. His eyes gleamed.

"Yes," Mulder finally said.

"Are you happy with him? Her?"

"Smooth, White. Why don't you ask me how my wife is doing?"

"You're a prickly bastard, Mulder. But it's very compelling."

"I get that a lot."

White set his donut down and began to methodically lick the icing from  
his fingers. His eyes never left Mulder's. The man had obviously seen too  
many porn movies to ever again function like a normal person in the real  
world. The way Mulder saw it, the agent was about a heartbeat away from  
making some kind of horrendously cheesy remark about the size of his cock.

While Mulder watched, paralyzed by the need to do something other than  
laugh, White abandoned Scully's chair and came around the desk.

"The thing is, and I hope you don't take this personally, I hope you're  
unhappy. Gives me a better chance."

"You only work on the rebound, is that it?"

"I didn't come here to see your report, Mulder."

"Look, apart from the fact that I don't like you, you seem like a decent  
guy. I don't want to ruin the moment, but this is not going to happen,  
all right?" White had him caged, now, the back of his chair against his  
desk, and nowhere to go but up.

"I'm making a hash of this."

"It's all right, really. I'm sorry."

White sat on Mulder's lap, straddling him. "Give me a chance."

"Get the hell off me."

He tried to get up, but White had the size and the weight advantage.  
And before he could say anything else, the man kissed him, his tongue plunging  
deep into Mulder's mouth, his hand coming around to stroke Mulder's cock  
through his pants. Mulder resisted the urge to bite him, but fought every  
other way, writhing beneath him, making incoherent sounds of protest.

"Forgive the intrusion," came Walter's voice from the doorway.

White fell off Mulder's lap, cursing. Mulder stared at his lover, unable  
to speak.

"In case it's escaped your notice," the AD was saying, "this is the  
Federal Bureau of Investigation. In other words, _gentlemen_, this  
is neither the time nor the place for this kind of activity, which, by  
the way, I'm sure I don't have to tell you is extremely inappropriate.  
Now, until the President decides to convert our copy room to a bath house,  
I suggest you conduct your liaisons elsewhere. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," White said.

"Agent Mulder?"

"Yes."

Walter nodded. "I'll expect your report on my desk when I arrive in  
the morning." He turned and left.

Mulder didn't move. He tried to imagine the scene as Walter had seen  
it, and he wished for a quick death. White on top of him, Mulder making  
sounds that could just as easily have been pleasure sounds as protesting  
ones. Mulder moving beneath him in a similarly misinterpretable fashion.

He had in insane urge to leap into the hallway, crying a histrionic  
"It's not what you think!" but it was easily tamped down. All he had to  
do was look at Jackson White, who was already looking as though he was  
about to make a second attempt.

"Get out of here."

"Mulder?"

"Get out!"

"I'm sorry. I really thought--"

"Forget it. Just, _please_ leave."

"All right." He took another of Mulder's donuts and was gone.

The agent sank back in his seat. He combed his mind for the specific  
phrase most suited to this occasion, and before long he came up with one:

"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, fucking, fuckety fuck."


End file.
